Matt

William Ahern

Matt was the parish thief. He made it into a fine art. It was said of him that, if it could be moved, he moved it. His neighbours have said that twelve midnight was a very busy time for him, and, indeed, I have seen him on the road myself. The car would approach and Matt would drop his sack, or push his wheelbarrow into the ditch, and become a man out for a midnight stroll. When the car had gone, the goods were retrieved and the journey home continued.   I will now give a few examples of his work. In the olden days when the County Council could repair the roads, there was always a strip of loose gravel left along neat to the verge. That night, Matt and his barrow would set to work and by the next morning there would be a smashing gravel driveway into his house.   Matt had a cow that he fed on the "long acre", that is the side of the road, and this was often used as a cover to spy on the neighbours and plan the next raid. At that time, apples, potatoes, turnips and some other foods for man and animal were kept in shallow pits in the ground, covered over with straw. The pit always looked the same until it was opened and found to be filled with stones.   There was a neighbour who bought a load of turf and locked it into a shed with bars on the windows. He was surprised to find it going so fast. .He did not have to wait long to find out what was happening. Mat had invented a tool to overcome the problem of the bars by adding a long handle to a garden pike and edging the prongs to make an ideal grabbing and lifting tool.   Another neighbour had a wild rabbit in a cage, and was fattening it for the cooking pot. One night, it disappeared and the Guards were notified. A few days later, the owner contacted the guards again, asking if there was any account of his rabbit. The Guard let a swear out of him and said,   "Have I anything else to do besides catching every rabbit in the countryside, and bringing it to you to see if you can identify it?"   This was part of Matt's trade: never take what could be identified. Apples, potatoes, turf and such could not be said to be taken from Neighbour A rather than Neighbour B, so Matt was always in the clear.   Many years ago when the mail was delivered by rail, the postman had to go to the station to collect it and bring it back to the post office for sorting and delivery. The road ran along by the parish Graveyard, and one Winter morning, as he passed it, a ladder was put out over the wall. The postman had a strong mind, and stayed to see what would happen next. It was Matt and, this time, he was stealing coal from the convent, which backed on to the graveyard.   There is a story told that, in his younger days, Matt had a pony and trap, and, one day, was returning from the local seaside with a load of seaweed. A few of the local "boyos" met him, and, while some diverted his attention, the others untackled the pony, put the shafts of the trap through the bars of a nearby gate, and then tackled the pony again. It took years for Matt to sort out how the pony managed to get into such a state.   In the autumn, Matt would be very busy picking blackberries and making jam. I never tasted it, but I am told that it was very good. Whenever I walk to the village and see the blackberries growing and rotting in the ditches, I think of Matt. There was no need for him to steal, because most of the neighbours would have shared their goods with him, but I think that it was a form of one-upmanship that kept him at the trade.   May he steal a few harps above, and, in the silence that will follow, may he rest in peace. Copyright © 2001 William Ahern